adventures in babysitting
by wellthatdepends
Summary: "You want me to spy on your babysitter?" [babysitter!AU / bethyl smut week]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** A bit late, but I think it's still Friday for most of you? Thanks again for all the feedback, you are all so lovely! Enjoy! xx

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Rick can't stop staring at the clock. Daryl can't help but notice.

"Ya got somewhere to be?" he asks, taking a swig of his beer, staring at the game on the screen.

"Nah," Rick sighs, shaking his head with a frown, "Beth's looking after the kids tonight. Don't have to relieve her until after eleven."

"You don't want Beth watching them, or something?" Daryl asks, and it's a stupid question, stupid because she's been Rick's babysitter all summer. Stupid because Judith adores her and Carl is half in love with her. Stupid because the girl is studying to be a teacher and this shit comes as easy as breathing to her.

So what the hell is Rick's problem?

"I think Beth has a boyfriend," Rick mutters, rubbing his eyes, "and I think he's coming over and they're…"

"They're what?" Daryl smirks, and Rick glares at him.

"I found a condom wrapper between the couch cushions," Rick states, tone very matter of fact, "and it ain't like Lori and I are getting crazy and fucking in every room like newlyweds."

"So?" Daryl takes a sip of his drink, eyes focused on the game.

"So, I can't have stuff like that going on in my house," Rick sighs, "and I told Hershel I'd keep an eye on her. Keep her safe."

"Keep her a virgin?" Daryl offers and Rick, mid-swig, chokes on his beer.

"What? No!" he exclaims, "I mean, it's none of my business. But I don't want her doing that under my roof."

"What are you gonna do, man," Daryl asks, "come home early, try and catch her in the act?"

"Tried that," Rick shakes his head, "a few times. Pretty sure she I'm super forgetful for a cop."

"You talked to Lori?"

"No!" Rick looks horrified, "You know she'll just ask her straight out. I need proof, Daryl. I need you."

"What the hell do you need me for?" Daryl's focus snaps towards his friend, throwing him a glare.

"Just go over there," Rick all but pleads, "pretend you're looking for me or something. See if you note anything that doesn't look quite right-"

"You want me to spy on your babysitter?"

Rick hesitates.

"Well, when you put it like that…yes."

"Fuck," Daryl curses shaking his head, "get one of those nanny cams if you're so worried."

"What, no!" Rick exclaims, "Beth's not an idiot, she already thinks something's up. And if I'm wrong, and she finds out I had these suspicions, she won't want to babysit for us anymore."

Daryl heaves a sigh. If it were anyone else…

"Fine."

"You'll do it?"

"Said fine, didn't I?"

And Rick doesn't push it. Buys another round and they finish watching the game in silence. And when they're leaving the bar, he hands him a scrap of paper with a date and a time.

Just call him Detective Daryl Dixon. Or some shit.

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"Is Rick here?"

Seconds ago, he rang the Grimes' doorbell. Waited for the soft padding of feet, and the door to swing open to reveal the pretty blonde. All long legs and pale skin and cornflower blue eyes. Wearing tennis shoes and a short little sundress, he lets his gaze linger too long, and notes the blush that graces his cheeks under his scrutiny.

"Mister Dixon," she greets, opening the door, "he's not here right now, but you could wait for him? He should be back in an hour or so."

"Thanks," he mutters, entering the house, glancing briefly into the living room keeping his eyes and ears open.

"Ya want a drink?" Beth offers, walking towards the kitchen, and Daryl follows,  
"Water, tea, coffee? I can grab you a soda or a beer from the basement?"

"Where's Lil' Asskicker?" Daryl asks, and Beth giggles.

" _Judith_ is asleep."

Good. Real good.

"You know, I ain't here for Rick," Daryl states, leaning against the fridge.

"Oh," Beth's eyes widen, biting her lip, "then why are you here, Mister Dixon?"

"Rick thinks you're fucking some boy under his roof," Daryl replies nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest, "but we both know you ain't been fucking no _boy_."

Beth's inhale is audible, her hands gripping the countertop behind her.

"Mister Dixon," she exhales, pushing forward, moving to wrap her arms around his neck. He grabs her wrists, holds her at arms length, shaking his head.

"You've been careless, baby girl."

The girl whimpers, blue eyes dark, body completely on edge. Her body is a string pulled taut, on the point of snapping. On the point that she _wants_ to snap.

She wants him. But, then again, she always does.

"I'm sorry, Mister Dixon," she breathes and his grip tightens on her wrists.

"How sorry?" He growls, low in his throat.

Really sorry, apparently, as she lowers to her knees, unbuckling his belt and letting his pants drop down his legs. His cock springs to attention; she's already got him so working up, with her panting and whimpering and breathy _Mister Dixon's_ , that it's no surprise. The girl knows how to get him going, on words and body language alone.

Knows how to finish it too.

Takes him in her hot, wet mouth. All of him, and sometimes it's like the girl has no gag reflex, which isn't true, because one of his favourite sounds is her gagging around his cock.

Hell, any sound she makes is one of his favourite sounds.

She sucks at him, licks at him, like his dick is some sort of candy and fuck, sometimes he wishes he had one of those camera phones so he could film it or something. Just so he can remind himself that she is real. Sometimes he thinks she's a fantasy he made up, that every time they're together is just a dream. Because there's no way this girl can go from sweet babysitter one minute, to cock sucking slut the next.

Except she does. And she _is_ real.

And Daryl Dixon must be the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.

"Fuck," he hisses, as she swirls her tongue around his tip, sucking him in, moving her mouth up and down his length. Feels that building sensation from within, the tightening in his balls. Feels the blood rushing to his head because this girl makes him dizzy and delirious and higher than any of his brother's drugs of choice.

When he comes, he comes _hard_ , holding her head in place as she swallows every single drop. Finally lets her go, spent and satisfied, the weight of him falling against the fridge, the appliance shaking, jars inside ratting. Beth throws him a smirk, wipes the corners of mouth oh so delicately, and gets to her feet.

"I'm not done with you yet, Mister Dixon," she singsongs.

"That so?"

"Ye _p_ ," she drawls, popping the _p_ , "because I was thinking, while I was down on the ground, with your big cock in my mouth, that maybe this wasn't completely my fault. It was _your_ condom. Not mine."

"What do you want, girl?" Daryl asks darkly, stalking towards her, backing her up against the counter.

"I want an apology," she breathes, chest pressed up against his, "a really, _really_ good one."

He can give her that. He can give her that, and more. His lips crash against hers, tongue colliding in a battle of dominance. Because this is what this game is, right now, this push and pull that's sending them both over the edge. Her hands are tugging at his hair, and his are sliding up her dress, palming her tits, rolling her nipples between his fingers. She whimpers into his mouth, hitches her leg over his hip, but he knows what she wants, and he lifts her up, using the counter to keep them upright. The new angle allows him to deepen the kiss, take it further. It's frantic, it's possessive, it's a battle where they'll both come out the victor.

It's a battle where they'll both _come_.

Her hands find the hem of her dress, flinging it over her head. Her tennis shoes hit the floor behind him, and he barely registers the sound, not when he's trailing his tongue down her neck, down her chest, lavishing her breasts. Licking and biting and ultimately _marking_. Because this is their dance, this dance of lustful possession and in the morning they'll both wake up sporting the other's marks on their skin.

"I want…" she whines, bucking against him as he bites down gently on her nipple.

"What, girl?" he growls and she moans, head thrown back, grinding her panty-covered cunt against his cock.

"I want you to fuck me."

She squeals as he spins them around, her thighs tightening around him, arms wrapped around his neck. He manoeuvres them through the kitchen, into the living room, dropping her down onto the sofa. She lands with a bounce and he takes the moment to let his eyes trail up and down her body, flushed pink with excitement, lips swollen, hair mussed, panties absolutely soaked. He licks his lips and stalks towards her, like a hunter does its prey. It never feels like that, oh no; not when she has that devious glint in her eyes, not when her thighs part ever so slightly.

Not when he starts to think that maybe he's the one _caught_ by her. Right where she wants him.

On top of her, under her, _inside_ her.

He slides her panties down her thighs, over her knees. Scrunches them in his fist, inhales deeply, as if to memorise her scent. Her breath hitches, and when he glances at her, the look on her face is one of absolute desire. It's blue eyes bleeding into black. It's his matching hers, tenfold.

"Fuck me," she whispers.

He slides into her slowly, so slowly that she arches her back with a long, drawn out whine. Her tight heat stretches and encompasses him, walls pulsing around his cock and he feels on the edge of coming, just by being inside her. She whimpers, bucks her hips, begging him silently for more.

"How you want it, girl?" he asks, so casually, so nonchalant, he may as well have been asking her how she wants her eggs.

"Hard."

He thrusts slowly at first, building her up, setting the pace. She spurs him on with her own thrusts, and soon he pounding her into the sofa, sweat slickened bodies sliding against one another. He hooks a leg over his shoulder, and she cries out at the change in angle, and he hits a spot inside her that drives her absolutely wild. Grunting, he slides a hand between them, thumb finding her clit, rubbing hard little circles, bringing her closer to the edge.

When she comes, she comes hard, whimpering and crying and cursing his name. He keeps thrusting, keeps playing with her clit, drawing another orgasm out of her, her juices soaking his dick, and quite possibly the cushion beneath them.

And maybe that thought is what makes him come, that thought, and the fact that this is not their house and she is his best friend's babysitter and they are playing with fire. That they both get off on secrets and sneaking around and the possibility of being caught.

He comes long and hard, for the second time that day. Sliding out of her, he takes in her appearance; she thoroughly fucked, eyes heavy lidded, body utterly spent. She throws him a lazy smile, hand reaching up, trailing across his cheek. He bends down, presses a soft kiss to her lips, and she sighs contently against him.

"Hi," she breathes.

"Hey," he murmurs.

And he can't take his eyes off her. Can't bring himself to move.

Doesn't think he'll ever want to.

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"She likes it!"

"Don't want my god-daughter to be watching this shit, is all."

Rick surveys the scene in front of him; Beth sitting on the couch, Daryl beside her, Judith perched in his lap. He's helped himself to a beer, and they're watching one of Judith's Barbie movies.

"It's about friendship, how is that bad?"

"Mama! Daddy!"

Judith bounds out of Daryl lap, and Rick swings her into a hug.

"You been good, Jude?"

"Look at what she's wearing! And a charm school? Ain't there one where Barbie is President or a CEO or somethin'?"

"Uncle Daryl is silly," the little girl giggles, and Lori chuckles.

"I think Daryl might have a point," Rick grins, pressing a kiss to the young girl's cheek. She passes the little girl to Lori, and gestures subtly for Daryl to follow him outside.

On the porch, Daryl lights a cigarette, inhaling slowly.

"Yeah?"

"Come on, brother," Rick sighs, "anything?"

"Girl was alone when I got here," Daryl shrugs, "didn't see no 'boy' around. Lil' Asskicker woke up from her nap and that's it. You sure it's hers? She doesn't seem like that type of girl, you know."

"Whose else could it be?" Rick asks, exasperatedly.

"Dunno," Daryl stamps out his cigarette, "Shane's a man whore, aint' he? Maybe it fell out of his pocket or somethin'."

Rick's brow furrows. It's not the most unlikely of scenarios. Actually, the more he thinks about it, the more likely it seems.

"Yeah," Rick nods, "you're probably right."

He feels a bit silly, jumping to conclusions. Beth Greene's a good girl. She wouldn't do something like that.

When she leaves for the day, Rick gives her an extra twenty for her troubles.

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	2. Chapter 2

**a/n:** Okay, so I originally wrote this for smut week, but got cold feet about posting it. Mainly because oh god, it's a prequel, how is it going to stack up to the original, oh god, panic panic panic. Anyway, the panic has passed. I'm feeling calm, composed, and okay about the outcome. So here it is. The "Prequel". Enjoy.

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It was supposed to be an easy job.

Judith Grimes is the sweetest, cutest, happiest toddler she's ever babysat for. Carl's a cool kid, and the Grimes' are a genuinely nice family.

It was supposed to be an easy job.

And then she met Daryl Dixon.

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Daryl Dixon is the kind of man they write romance novels about. Trashy, bodice rippers, the kind you hide under your mattress and read beneath the covers by torchlight. He is mysterious and dangerous and looks at her like he knows her deepest, darkest desires.

Like he knows exactly how to make her body come _alive_.

She's the babysitter. _Just_ the babysitter. The only time they interact is in passing; murmured hellos and brief goodbyes and Rick, always Rick, quick to interject with a _hey, Daryl, you remember Beth_?

She's positive he doesn't. Why would he?

She's just the babysitter.

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Maggie is a wealth of knowledge. Not much of it useful, but Beth appreciates it all the same.

"Cute, cute, too young, too slutty, cute, too casual, too… _perfect_."

Maggie tosses a hanger in Beth's direction, smiling proudly.

" _This_ is the outfit that will seduce your outlaw."

"He's not an outlaw, Maggie," Beth rolls her eyes, "he's a mechanic."

"Just spicing it up a bit," Maggie retorts, digging through the closet for some shoes, "anyway, remember who's helping you here. You want to look fuckable at this barbeque?"

"I want Daryl to notice me," Beth sighs, "I'm still there to work. I can't be wearing, like, stilettos and hotpants."

"Which you own neither of, by the way," Maggie shakes her head, "I don't know where I went wrong – aha! These are perfect! Quick, try them on. And wear that bra I got you for your birthday!"

Scurrying to the bathroom, she quickly shucks her shirt and shorts, throwing the dress over her head.

"I don't know why I'm bothering," Beth laments, "he's so out of my league-"

"I don't want to hear that kind of negative attitude," Maggie scolds, "you are a Greene girl and Greene girls get what they want. You want that Sons of Anarchy extra? You're damn well getting that Sons of Anarchy extra!"

"Again, Maggie, he's just a mechanic," Beth sighs, exiting the bathroom. She props her hands on her hips, "verdict?"

Maggie does a slow circle, inspecting the younger woman carefully.

"You look…"

Beth takes a deep breath.

"… _hot_."

She glances in the mirror. And she doesn't quite recognise herself. Her hair is falling in loose waves, the red lipstick emphasising the red cherries on the dress. She bites her lip nervously - there's no way she can wear this to a barbeque. No way she can wear this in _public_.

"You know what, sans bra works better," Maggie grins, "easier access."

"Maggie!" Beth admonishes.

"Like that's not your end game," she smirks, "especially in that dress."

"You chose that dress!"

Maggie shrugs, not apologetic in the slightest.

"Men associate cherries with virginity. And men love virgins."

Beth opens her mouth to protest, but Maggie quickly interrupts.

"Hey, not my fault!" she argues, "Blame the patriarchy."

Beth sighs, scrutinising herself in the mirror. The outfit itself is not particularly revealing, but she looks older, looks mature.

Looks less like a girl and more like the twenty-year-old woman that she is.

And maybe Daryl might see that as well.

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So she feels a bit like an idiot.

It's an hour in and Daryl's not even there.

She tries not to look disappointed. Tries to act like everything is fine, that she's fine, and tries to prove it to herself by reapplying her lipstick before waking Judith from her nap.

"Aren't you a sweet girl," she coos, balancing the toddler on her hip, while the little girl yawns and rubs her eyes, "and a sleepy girl!"

She makes her way to the kitchen to fetch her a snack, singing softly.

And bumps right into Daryl.

"Careful, girl," he mutters and she blushes fire engine red.

"I'm sorry!" she blurts out, so embarrassed, "I should have been watching where I was going."

"Ain't no trouble," he shrugs. Judith squirms in her arms, reaching out towards Daryl. Carefully, he plucks the baby from her arms, balancing her on one arm. "Hey lil' asskicker, how you doin' today?"

"Uncle Daryl!"

The toddler chatters happily and Beth feels her pulse quicken at the sight.

"Have you been here long?" Beth asks, nonchalant, pretending like she hasn't been watching the door for his impending arrival.

"Just got here," he replies, distracted by Judith. Beth sighs inwardly, turning to the fridge, grabbing Judith's dinner and placing it in the microwave. She tries not to stare at him, in his ripped shirt and leather vest, so attentive to the child in his arms. Instead she leans back against the fridge, watching the microwave countdown.

"You look nice."

Her head shoots up in surprise.

"Huh?" she questions, feeling like an idiot.

"You," his eyes wonder over her body, "look nice."

Shyly, she lowers her eyes. Juts out her hip. Pushes forward her chest.

"Thanks," she glances up at him with a smile, biting her lip.

He watches her, eyes freely trailing down her legs and back up, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

The microwave timer sounds.

She smoothly takes Judith from his arms and flashes him a coy smile.

"See ya round, Mister Dixon."

And with all the confidence, all the smoothness she can muster, she calmly walks away.

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"Beth?"

Her head shoots up. Lori looks slightly frazzled, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears. She feels a bit guilty; here she is, sitting in a deck chair, on her phone, rather than seeing if the older woman needs help.

"Judith?"

"She's fine," Lori smiles, "Carl has her. Was hoping you could pop down to the basement and grab some more ice?"

"Sure," Beth rises from the chair, "not a problem."

She makes her way into the house, opening the door to the small staircase, turning on the light before she descends. Judging by the amount of ice in the chest freezer, they must have bought out the entire store.

The door swings shut, and she jumps in surprise.

At the stop of the staircase, is Daryl.

"Mister Dixon," she breathes, "you startled me."

Wordlessly, he walks down the stairs, boots heavy on the wood.

"Lori said you might need a hand."

"Yeah," Beth nods, "that would be great."

He crosses the room quickly, taking from her arms a couple of bags. Her hands are numb from the cold, but when they brush his, they feel like they are on fire.

"Oh," she breathes and he looks at her through his too long hair.

(Hair she's dreamed about gripping as he fucks her with his tongue.)

He places the ice on the ground, dropping it with a solid thud. Takes a step forward, while she takes a step back. Boxes her in against the freezer, and her eyes widen with shock.

"Rick wants to know why I don't come to the house any more," he murmurs, almost casually, the heat radiating off his body.

"Yeah?" she stutters.

"Yeah," he replies, reaching out, fingers brushing the hem of her dress, "not sure how he'd take it if he knew the reason was because I wanted to fuck his babysitter."

Thank god he has her pinned to the freezer, because that's the only thing keeping her upright

"Tried to resist, girl," he drags the hem slowly up her thighs, fingers trailing lightly against her skin, "tried to pretend I didn't see the way you would look at me, or the way you'd call me 'Mister Dixon', like some schoolgirl wantin' to be punished. Tried to pretend that every time I saw you I didn't immediately picture you down on your knees."

It's happening. It's happening and she's about 85% sure that this is real and not some kind of fever dream.

She's so nervous; sure, she wished for this, but she never expected it in a million years. She has no idea where to go from here, but she thinks she can at least make his fantasy a reality.

Slowly, carefully, she lowers herself to her knees.

Only to have Daryl haul her back upright.

"I said I wanted to fuck you," he growls, "and I didn't mean your mouth."

She whimpers, shaking in his arms in anticipation, panties practically soaked. He shoves her back against the freezer, kissing her with a frantic urgency. Licking into her mouth, hungry and heated, his hand gripping her thigh and inching upward. Leaving her exhausted and panting for breath that he barely lets her catch before kissing her once more, the passion only intensifying to a level she never dreamed possible.

"This dress has got to go," he whispers, one hand gripping her hip, the other resting against her panty-covered mound, bucking wildly into the heel of his palm.

Daryl could rip the dress for all she cared.

She just wants it _off_.

His hands shifts from her leg to the zipper at her back, lowering it slowly so the dress slips from her shoulders and pools at her feet. Kicking it to the side, she lets out a squeal as he grips her ass, lifting her so she can wrap her legs around him, her centre coming into direct contact with the bulge in his jeans.

Lips trailing down her jaw, to her neck, to her chest, she moans when his hot tongue encircles her tight nipples, exciting them to the point where they're painfully hard. He slips one of his hands between their bodies, rubbing her through her panties, fingers pressing on her clit, causing little shivers to course through her body.

"Daryl…" she cries out, pressing her face against his neck, "… _please_."

With a rip the panties are gone, his rough, calloused fingers dipping beneath her folds, rubbing and probing and making her come alive.

"You like that, girl?" he groans, "Just wait, you'll like my cock even more."

Propelling herself forward, she presses her lips to his. The kiss is hot and wet and messy and as she slides her tongue against his, she pushes herself further down on his fingers. They slide over her clit easily, so wet, so ready for him, and she clamps her legs around him tighter, gasping for breath against his neck.

She feels the cold lid of the freezer against her ass, and although in a lustful haze, she registers the sound of his belt unbuckling, the ripping of foil. His hands grasp her hips as he lifts her once more, her hot heat coming in contact with this thick, hard cock.

Gasping, she sees stars when he penetrates her. This is better than any daydream, any late night fantasy. His lips, sucking at the juncture of her neck and jaw. Hands, gripping her almost painfully. Slow, deep thrusts, building to a frenzied, rough pace that she relishes, that she yearns for. That has her crying out in ecstasy as he hits that spot deep within that makes her see stars. That makes her shout herself hoarse. That has her coming apart in his arms, limbs boneless, drowning in her release.

"Oh my god," she pants, gripping his shoulder tight, him being the only thing keeping her from falling to the floor, "I wish you'd done that sooner."

"Wish I had too," he replies, resting her on the washing machine, as he retrieves their clothes. She slips her dress back on, just as he's buckling back up his belt. Her destroyed panties, he slips into his pocket with a smirk.

"Next time, don't bother with panties," he tells her, grabbing the ice, making his way back up the stairs.

 _Next time_.

She can't wait.


End file.
